


A Walk in the Woods

by iamnotanut



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fight to the Death sort of, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Happy Ending, Hunters & Hunting, I couldn't be stopped once I started, I'm not sorry, M/M, Murder, Murder Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27429658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnotanut/pseuds/iamnotanut
Summary: Will stumbles across a body in the woods and interrupts a cannibal's hunt in the process. Delirious and hopelessly lost, Will has no choice but to confront him. It's kill or be killed.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44





	A Walk in the Woods

Will stumbled in the underbrush, through the maze of trees crowding around him. The sky was blackening faster than he thought possible.

He fumbled for his phone and saw the red bar of battery life remaining. Panic scattered his thoughts. He dialed the first person he could think of.

The phone rang while his eyes darted over shapes in the dark.

“Will?”

“Jack! Thank god—Jack, there’s a body. I was walking in the woods and… I saw it. I just _found_ it. The ribs were strewn open. Like a broken birdcage—”

“Will, calm down.”

“I heard someone coming and I—”

“Will!” Jack’s voice rattled him. “Where are you?”

He took in his surroundings. Nothing was familiar, and it was so dark now. His car was somewhere nearby, it had to be.

“Look at your goddamn map and tell me where you are!”

Will pulled it up. His little blue icon stood blinking in a blank expanse that wouldn’t load.

He thought he heard a twig snap and jerked his head up. He scanned the trees for movement.

Jack’s voice echoed through static.

“Will? Will!”

Will snuck forward, feet pressing tenderly on the fallen leaves. He hunkered down behind a tree and watched through a lattice of branches. He spoke softly into the phone.

“He’s following me. I can almost see him.”

Jack went quiet on the other line.

Will waited as the muted crunching grew closer. There was another sound that came with it, the crinkling of plastic. Will edged around the trunk to spot something slick catching the faint moonlight.

A plastic suit encased the murderer head to toe. His arms, his whole front was dripping with viscera. There was a knife gripped in his gloved hand. He turned slowly and Will’s heart dropped when he recognized the man’s profile. That twist of a smile.

Will sprang from his hiding spot and ran for his life.

“Christ, it’s _Hannibal!_ ” He yelled desperately into the phone, “It’s Hannibal, Jack!!”

Silence on the other line.

“Jack!?”

Will stared into a black screen. His phone was dead.

Will registered the thumping of fast footsteps before he was tackled from behind. The bite of a knife grazed his side, but Will threw himself into a full tumble before it stuck. He rolled head over foot until he could plant himself and launch into a run again—too terrified to look back.

He thought he heard Hannibal’s melodic voice calling his name, eerily void of murderous intent. Its sweet lie tugged at his heart.

His lungs were burning. He didn’t know how long he had been running in the endless woods. When he finally dared to glance over his shoulder, Will found he was alone. He muffled his ragged breathing in his sleeve and hid himself just in case. His head spun as he listened for Hannibal’s pursuit. Nothing.

He fell back against the tree trunk and held his chest as if it would alleviate the pain. Time moved strangely, exhaustion and frigid sleep to pull him under. When he woke again, his hands and feet were brittle with cold. Will couldn’t stay here, or he’d freeze to death. Will had no choice but to keep moving.

Will staggered through the trees. He stumbled upon a frozen stream and followed it. He vaguely remembered he had parked his car near a body of water.

He walked and walked until something changed in the backdrop of the woods. He spotted an artificial light glowing in the distance. A cottage. Hope flooded through him. Will took a few helpless steps toward it before reason caught up and soured his relief.

It was a trap. It had to be.

He didn't have a choice. It would be a fight for his life either way.

Will hugged himself tight for warmth and moved onward, wary of every sound he made. The cottage tempted him like a fairy tale nightmare. His weary mind transformed the porchlight into that of a deep-sea lure, dangling to bait him into a mouth of needle-like teeth.

He could see the end of the trees—the end of his cover—and the cottage sitting nestled in the small clearing. Hannibal had planned this. All of it. Will scoped the property out from afar. The windows were mostly dark, but warm light hinted at a fire inside. There was a truck in the garage, and Will could see hunting gear hung on racks. No guns or weapons. Hannibal wouldn’t be so foolish. The keys to the truck had to be inside along with any usable weapon, guarded by Hannibal himself.

Will steeled himself and took the final step out of the trees.

He caught the glint of metal too late.

Will’s ankle snapped in a buried beartrap. A piercing scream welled in his throat with the white-hot pain—a spark of rational thought cut off the sound before it could escape. Will collapsed to the side. Blood rushed to his head and he fought the helpless sounds trying to claw their way out. Will curled up, concealed behind another tree and out of the porchlight just in time.

He heard the cottage door open. He gripped his leg above the trap where it throbbed, sweat already matting his brow. Only now did Will realize Hannibal had rigged the tree line. He was waiting for his victim’s agonized cries to alert him. Will listened, imagining Hannibal’s patient smile as he surveyed the grounds. Finally, the door closed.

Every inch of Will burned as he lifted his trapped leg. The chain pulled tight against the stake in the ground, jarring his ankle, and Will almost lost consciousness. He sat his foot and the metal mouth gingerly on the ground. It was a classic long-spring trap. He took off his belt and tightened it around one of the clamps until he felt the pressure give. A fresh wave of pain barreled through, but Will couldn’t give up now. Hands shaking, Will gripped the other clamp. The trap was rusted over. It was designed to trap bears, not scrawny humans. If Will could just loosen it a little, he might slip out. He squeezed the clamp with all his strength and felt the jaws widen. The metal teeth dislodged and in a frenzied effort Will shook his leg. He kicked himself free and the metal trap clanked on the ground, snapping tight on nothing.

Puddled in the shadow, Will breathed through the searing pain and willed it to pass. He bound his bleeding ankle and tested its motion as best he could. He would worry about his likely infection later. Once Hannibal was dead by his hands.

He pulled a fallen branch to him and broke a piece for a splint. He belted it to his leg. What was left was tall enough for a makeshift cane. He could only just stand while leaning heavily on the branch. He checked the ground with it for more traps as he approached the cottage.

He crept along the side of the building to peer through one of the side windows. There Hannibal sat by the fire. His knife was lying on the end table while he wiped down a small axe. There was a gun mounted over the fireplace. Will weighed the possibility of it being loaded. If this was a game for Hannibal, what would be more exciting?

Will circled around the back to the kitchen door. Just looking at it made him sweat. The hinges were in terrible condition. The sound would give him away. He had almost resigned himself to using it regardless when he noticed the cellar door peeking out of overgrown foliage. He quietly removed vines and debris to expose it. The wood was warped with time and the elements, all paint had chipped away. The lock was rusted beyond hope, but the hinge itself was barely hanging on. Will wedged the end of his branch behind the hinge and worked it loose.

He went into the pitch-black cellar with a tentative hand out in front. He limped along the wall, feeling his way in unbearable darkness. His only guide was the sliver of light at the bottom of the basement door. He fell only once when something tangled his feet. It was the pain that knocked him down more than anything, and he felt blood oozing through the scraps of clothing he’d wrapped it with. Will lashed out at what had tripped him and discovered a coil of electrical wires. Heart hammering, he took the coil and crept up the stairs.

He knelt on the steps to peer under the door. He could see the fire, the legs of an armchair, and Hannibal’s feet. He could see the axe leaning off to the side, freshly sharpened. He watched Hannibal stand to stoke the fire. It roared and crackled as Will turned the doorknob. When Hannibal sat once more, Will edged the door open. He slipped into the dim and warm room, breath still in his chest.

Hannibal sat with his back to him, a book open in his lap, knife on the end table. Will watched the side of his face, Hannibal’s half-lidded eyes focused on the pages, blond hair in the firelight. The sight sank heavy in Will’s stomach. He pulled the wire taut between his hand and dove forward.

Will wrapped the wire around Hannibal's throat and tore him from the chair. He knocked it and the table over in the process. The knife clattered to the ground. Will took them down as he strangled Hannibal with all his strength. They rolled together, Hannibal reaching desperately for the knife. Will maneuvered to sit on his back, pulling Hannibal’s neck up. He could taste righteous victory at the muted choking sounds Hannibal made. Then Hannibal’s gripped his injured leg, fingers digging in. He must have smelled the blood. Blinded by his pain, Will screamed out. He felt the swipe of Hannibal’s knife in his retreat. Will couldn’t let Hannibal get to his feet.

He grabbed at Hannibal’s legs and waist to yank him back to the floor with a crash. He fumbled at Hannibal’s hands, stopping the knife. They wrestled for it. The instant their eyes met, Hannibal saw Will's bloodlust and was momentarily captured by it. Seeing himself reflected, his gut twisted in horror.

He punched Hannibal across the jaw and snatched the knife. He stabbed at the first part of Hannibal he could get at, and everything stopped. The handle stuck out of Hannibal’s back. Will scooted away and stared as Hannibal feebly reached for it. He doubled over with a grunt, breathing heavily.

Will crawled to the axe and stood using it as a crutch. Hannibal stared at Will from the floor with a smile still on his face. Will imagined striking him in the chest, splitting him open as Hannibal had done to his victim. Will saw himself wrenching apart the ribs to set the caged pieces of Hannibal free.

He shook his head, disoriented, and staggered to the door. He snatched the car keys from a hook on the wall and stepped onto the doorstep.

He heard Hannibal calling him from behind, his voice almost soothing. Will couldn’t listen. He couldn’t let himself be drawn in.

He limped to the garage with his swollen leg and got in the truck. He slumped into the cabin and turned the ignition. The truck choked, cranking but not starting. He checked the fuel gage. Empty. Will slammed a hand on the wheel and dragged himself out of the truck to search for a gas can.

Gripping the top of the axe, Will's good foot landed heavy on the ground. He felt faint from blood loss. He searched the work bench, the shelves, and floor for that telltale red canister with no success. The skin of his neck prickled, and Will whipped around to face a silhouette at the opening of the garage. The hunting rifle at his side, Hannibal stood with his mouth open in a pant.

He hoisted the gun to his shoulder, aiming at Will’s head with death in his eyes. Hannibal was pale behind it, hiding his pained grimace. Knowing he was shielded from view by the truck Will gripped the handle of the axe.

With surprising poise, he spoke. “Guns don’t suit you, Hannibal.”

Hannibal took a few breaths, eyes smiling. His voice croaked.

“No. I suppose not.”

He lowered the gun and opened his stance, as if inviting Will’s embrace.

Will pounced. He swung the axe at Hannibal who defended readily. The axe caught the body of the rifle and stuck in the metal barrel, failing to split it. Trapped, Hannibal tore Will's weapon away. They rattled together on the concrete floor. Hannibal revealed his knife, but it did little to deter Will. He was beyond that kind of pain. He body-slammed Hannibal to the floor and beats his face until his knuckles were raw. He gripped Hannibal by the throat, slamming his head repeatedly into the ground. Will felt the knife slip into his gut and heat poured onto his lap. They tumbled apart and Will’s hand landed on the handle of the axe, still imbedded in the rifle.

Will wheeled it around, slamming the axe and rifle onto the hood of the truck. The rifle split and scattered, freeing the blade. Axe in one hand, leg pulsing bone deep, Will held the gushing wound on his stomach.

Hannibal’s face was already swelling. His lip was split, and dark lines of bruises were forming around his neck. His eyes swam as he fought off the enclosing concussion. Even so, Hannibal radiated confidence with his hand drenched in blood around the knife.

Will swung rabid and determined, and Hannibal dodged a hair’s breadth out of danger. He sought his opening, eyes on Will’s throat. In a war of attrition, Will was bound to lose. He wouldn’t let that happen. He swung again and again, even as Hannibal parried handily. Will pushed Hannibal off the gravel driveway and toward the incline, until Hannibal’s foot met slick leaves.

He slipped on uncertain footing and leaned the wrong way—into the path of the axe. It caught on his neck. Shock flashed there as the men locked eyes.

Unable to stop his rage, Will wrenched out the axe to swing again. He chopped into Hannibal’s neck and brought him to the ground. Boot on his chest, Will struck over and over until Hannibal’s head toppled to the ground, expressionless.

There was stillness in the woods at last. Will fell to his knees and stared into Hannibal’s dimming eyes.

He took the head in his hands and brought it to rest in his lap. He gripped Hannibal’s blood-soaked hair and bowed over, cradling Hannibal to his chest.

As warmth and life drained from his wounds, Will muttered words of regret.

“Hannibal. I’m sorry.” His breath shook, “I’m so sorry.”

“Will?”

Will jolted upright. The phone he had forgotten was on the ground before him. The screen was bright.

“Will?” Hannibal’s voice called from within. “Can you hear me?”

He blinked awake, gripping the arms of his chair. The fire popped and hissed peacefully from the hearth. He gripped his side, checking for the knife wound. Nothing. His leg didn’t hurt either. He glanced at the room, landing on Hannibal where he lounged. His book was still open.

“You were restless,” His voice was muffled by the headphones Will was still wearing, “and you spoke some.”

Will grumbled in answer. He shoved off the headphones and dropped them roughly onto the tablet they were attached to.

Hannibal was looking very smug. Will stood gruffly and stormed to Hannibal’s side.

“You said my name,” he explained.

Will could still see the blank expression of Hannibal’s decapitated head. He cupped Hannibal’s face as he had only moments before.

Hannibal leaned into his touch, landing somewhere between sadistic and wistful. “Was it a pleasant dream?”

“No.”

Hannibal only hummed as Will leaned down to kiss him gently.

Will snatched up the headphones and tablet before leaving. He stomped down the hallway, following the sound of laughter. He knocked on the open doorframe.

Abigail turned sharply in her chair, popping out an earbud and pausing her screen. Will recognized the dancers hanging from red silks and large paper mâché heads in a frozen tableau.

Abigail wiped tears from her eyes. “Did you watch it!? ‘Your leg! Ah! It’s caught in a beartrap!’“ She wheezed with laughter. “I can’t believe I never saw this before. I just sent it to Hannibal.”

Will scowled at her from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

She blinked at him with doe eyes, “What?”

He crossed the room to drop the tablet and headphones on her bed. He pointed a stiff finger at her, “I blame you.” Then turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall.

He heard her calling, “Wait, Will! What did I do!?”

**Author's Note:**

> ....................I'm not sorry. I wanted to laugh today and BOY did I. I hope you had fun! Take care and dream of sweet, domestic Murder Fam cackling over Shia LaBeouf.


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